“What’s wrong?”
She sniffles, her chestnut gaze drops to her lap, and her hands tremble as they twist the fabric of her sweatshirt. For a long second, I expect her to push me away, to shove those walls back up and tell me to fuck off.
But then, in the smallest, softest voice I’ve ever heard from her, she whispers.
“My mom.”
My chest tightens so hard it’s almost fucking painful. I stay still, giving her room, letting her find her way through it.
She swallows thickly, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Sh-she was the only one who saw me,” she says, her voice cracking around the edges. “The only one who made me feel like I was enough.”
She hiccups, and her breath stutters briefly.
“And then she was just g-gone.”
I don’t say anything, nor do I rush her. I stay right there, steady, letting her pour it out because I know what it’s like.
Fuck, do I know.
She exhales shakily. “She got sick. One day she was fine, and the next, she wasn’t. It was like the ground just disappeared under me.”
She pauses, biting her trembling lip. “And my dad… God, it was like she died; he buried whatever was left of himself right alongside her. He shut me out, like I didn’t fucking exist anymore.” Her fingers pick harder at the hem of her sleeve, frantic now. “He just threw money at me. I did whatever I wanted. As long as I stayed out of his way, as long as I didn’t bother him, it was easier for him.” She lets out a hollow, bitter laugh that sounds more like a sob. “So I got good at it. Drinking. Partying. Spending his money. Trying to fill this gaping fucking hole in my chest, trying to make the emptiness go away.”
Her glassy eyes meet mine again, and fuck if the look on her face doesn’t rip me wide open.
“I kept trying to become what he wanted. I tried to be easier, quieter, more acceptable—anything that might make him see me. I thought if I worked hard enough, twisted myself into the version of a daughter he could tolerate, maybe he’d finally love me.”
Her voice finally cracks apart, splintering into a whisper. “But it never worked.”
My chest feels like it’s cracked in two. A deep, brutal ache I can’t remember feeling in a long time. I don’t know what to say, how do I even fix this?
But what I do know is that no one should ever have to feel the way she does right now.
Broken. Unwanted.Alone.
I reach up, my fingers tremble a little, and gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes, red-rimmed with unshed tears, hold my gaze. She looks so fucking broken, so raw, so real. I feel my heart shatter into pieces as I look into those big, lost chestnut eyes.
I do the only thing that feels right, the only thing that might make the shaking stop—even if it’s just for a second. I pull her into my arms, tucking her snug against my chest, wrapping myself around her like I can somehow shield her from all the shit she’s been carrying alone.
And the craziest fucking part?
She lets me. She doesn’t fight me or shove me away with one of her sharp little quips.
Her body melts into mine, trembling but willing.
It fucking wrecks me.
The truth is, I love sparring with her. I love her attitude, her fire, and the way she never lets me have the last word without a fight.
Seeing her like this?
Wrecked. Shattered.Vulnerable.
It fucks with my psyche, it changes something I didn’t even realize could change.
Right here, right now, I realize I’d burn the fucking world down if it meant putting her back together.
